Not So Much of a Fairytale
by magical-sprinkle
Summary: Before the war, Draco and Hermione had had a 'hidden', 'unofficial' relationship, broken because they thought it wouldn’t survive. Now that the war is over, what then? How do you undo something you did? Can you retrace the steps you traced? -oneshot-


**Disclaimer**: Nope, no J.K. Rowling living in the household.

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_**~Not So Much of a Fairytale~**_

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"Shush…" Draco insisted on, quieting Hermione from protesting that he should be sent for treatment. They descended the castle's ruined flight of stairs together, him holding her securely by the waist, maneuvering the way, away from the rest of the community who were now shouting, cheering and dancing through the night, celebrating the war they had won.

As soon as they reached downstairs, considerably unseen by anyone else, Draco trapped Hermione in his arms, pushing until her back was pressed against one of the few concrete columns that had survived the rampant attacks in the war.

"Quite long since, isn't it?" Draco asked, his gray eyes gazing into Hermione's brown one teasingly, smirking playfully.

Under the moonbeam that shone in through the broken windowpanes, Hermione couldn't help but foolishly fool herself into believing that this was a fairytale. His handsome face was not of a prince's though. It was of an angel's.

Without waiting for an answer as much as any permission, Draco cupped Hermione's face with one hand and leaned down to kiss her lips; softly and tenderly. He let her hands play with his hair when Hermione reached out to wrap her arms around Draco's neck, pulling him closer to her and ready to give willingly in. Perhaps of everything.

Until, when she suddenly realized.

It wasn't _her_ fairytale.

Draco pulled away reluctantly when Hermione abruptly _stopped_. She pushed her hands against his chest, pressing to distance them both away from one another desperately. When Draco looked at her in confusion, her face was pale, and pained.

"We can't—" Hermione shook her head, fighting to steady her heartbeats and the frantic screams in her mind to calm down. With jaw clenched tight Hermione looked at Draco in the eye, forcing herself to, and she whispered, "I'm sorry."

Just as she had pushed him away, taking the necessary steps to be away from him so that she wouldn't lose to the longing and return to his arms, _unrightfully_, a shout came from the stairs,

"Hermione!" Ron beckoned over, grinning from ear to ear.

Under the moonbeam that shone equally at him through the windows, Hermione reckoned as she watched, _that_ was her prince, _that_ was her angel. When she had broken her 'unofficial' relationship with Draco Malfoy before the war because she thought the relationship wouldn't survive, she had meant to forget everything about it. It was _hard_. Then, she somehow remembered that before being 'distracted' by Draco Malfoy she had always liked Ron Weasley. She hadn't known Draco Malfoy would choose their side shortly after, she hadn't known she wouldn't have to fight against him but with him. So she chose Ron. Now that the war was over she was with Ron.

"I'm sorry." Hermione whispered so that only Draco could hear, and she walked past him hastily to climb the stairs again, towards Ron.

She hadn't looked at Draco's expression. She hadn't dared. She knew she would lose.

It was only when there was a 'thud' sound as though something had fallen on the floor and when Ron shouted over from the top of stairs, "_Malfoy_!" that Hermione turned back around.

Draco was on the floor, lying motionlessly, unconscious.

It was only then that they saw the blood seeping through the shirt beneath his dark robe. Hermione cupped her mouth with her hands as Ron ran for help. He said he wasn't hurt just before, simply insisted on taking her hand to lead her away.

He had fought the pain because he thought he could take her back.

As she stood rooted to the ground watching his face, paler than his natural complexion, washed away from blood, Hermione couldn't help thinking the wound wasn't what had caused him to collapse, given in to pain.

It was her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Draco…" she cried.

~*~*~

When Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy walked into the Great Hall where the rest of them were gathering in, Hermione was sitting quietly between Harry and Ron while Ron held her hand in his, trying to soothe her down, assuming she was still shaken when Draco had collapsed, bloodied, just like that in front of them. Narcissa walked over to their table while Lucius stayed to talk with both Dumbledore and Snape.

"Darling," Narcissa called warmly, stooping down to hug Hermione. Hermione felt stiff. She simply sat there, doing nothing to respond. All she wanted was to know whether Draco was alright. "It was a fright, wasn't it?" Narcissa smiled softly at the rest of them at the table.

"Bloody was." Ron agreed. "He just dropped—" Hermione looked down and shut her eyes tight, hoping truly for once for Ron to simply close his mouth. "—like he was _dead_."

"He didn't mean that, Mrs. Malfoy." intervened Ginny shortly, shooting Ron with a glare that screamed, 'Insensitive moron!' but Ron simply frowned, clearly missing the point of the glare without any effort.

"I know," Narcissa straightened, giving Harry's shoulder an amiable squeeze. "Everyone has been working hard and awfully nice to Draco… It is a relief." she said.

"He's been awfully awesome," Fred commented airily, inspecting a dysfunctional candelabrum with George, apparently finding the broken remnants in the castle to be useful, to their way of thinking that was. "Should've been sorted into Gryffindor, with the way he fought." he said.

"Should have." George echoed.

"The way that boy fought was rather like Potter," Moody's guttural voice appeared from behind them as he made his way over. "But it wasn't _brave_," he articulated with emphasis.

"Stupid then," Harry supplied grudgingly, recalling that it was the word Moody had once barked at him when he tried to rush over affairs in the war.

"Quite," Moody half-nodded. "But the more accurate word is 'suicidal'. One would've thought he was trying to drag all those hell spawns along with him to hell," he tooted, looking over at Narcissa who smiled lightly back at him. Moody narrowed his eyes. "He was determined."

Draco had been spoiled since the day he was born, been cowardly and snobby, both Lucius and herself noticed that, Narcissa reckoned as she remained smiling at Moody. When that day over a year ago Draco suddenly asked them, '_What_ are we doing?' after witnessing a woman being murdered while they watched, while the rest of the woman's family watched and her husband swore out loud that they would all be damned for destroying others' family—Narcissa thought Draco sounded and looked exactly like when he was a five year old, a tiny little thing; naïve and innocent, when he was yet unspoiled by her and Lucius' teaching.

That was what made them all turn side, a whole family of them. Simple, easy, without any camouflaged agenda; because even a murderer like Lucius appreciated his family.

"It is true. Family _is_ one of those 'worth fighting for, worth dying for' causes." Narcissa had heard Dumbledore said to Draco that night her family went to find the old wizard.

And what a change that turning-side decision made to them all. Lucius spent more time with them, Draco fought alongside his father like he had always wanted—but for the right reasons. The first thing they did when they had the chance was to release all the prisoners confined in the dungeons in the Dark Lord's headquarter; both muggle and wizard. Families.

"Can I," Hermione's voice interrupted Narcissa's train of thought quietly. "Can I see him, please?" she asked in a whisper, looking up at Narcissa with plead.

"Of course, darling." Narcissa smiled, taking Hermione's hand as the girl stood from her seat. The others at the table had broke into talks, although exhausted were now quite contentedly beginning to discuss what they would do now that 'the worst' was over. "You don't need to say 'please', he might just be pleased to see you." Narcissa added as they exited the Great Hall.

Hermione merely smiled, strained and forced. If Draco had told her mother about their 'unofficial' relationship before the war, Hermione decided she must have meant that much to him, but the fact that Narcissa hadn't yet found out how Hermione had disappointed her son didn't do Hermione any consolation at all.

~*~*~

He had never wanted something so much, so much that it hurt more than anything now that he knew he would never get to reach that something.

After he watched Sophie die, and after Zach died afterward and he had a chance to get their family and many others out of the dirty cells they had been confined in, he had brought the couple's children home. Karen, Celia and Lucas they were. They had no one else but their dead parents and because he felt the need to make sure the siblings stayed together, he made his parents accept the children. They had been living in the Manor ever since. They were all aware of the fact that he had been one of those who had watched their parents die, but Celia and Lucas had treated him well, if cautious in the start. Karen, she was an entirely different matter. Nothing he did was enough to Karen, and Narcissa cried herself to sleep when one day Karen screamed all she wanted was to see Draco die. He couldn't care less though. Ever since that day he always had the urge to… kill himself, because he knew Karen was right. He deserved it. That was why he always 'jumped' into battlefields that would likely end with him dead, but the odds were he came out alive every time. Others called him _brave_.

Sitting against the headboard, Draco reached for his wand on the bedside table. Shadows played in the dimly lit Hospital Wing; he twirled the wand slowly in his hand. All along, the two thoughts that had stopped him from pointing his wand at himself, whispering, 'Avada Kadavra' had been his parents and Granger. Now he was left with only one thought every time he had the urge to, and Karen's voice seemed to ring louder in his mind.

Draco closed his eyes, leaning his head against the headboard, gripping the wand tight between his fingers. Of course, he thought bitterly. Of course Granger belonged to Weasley. All along, Malfoy had only been a distraction.

But even when he knew that, the ache in his heart wouldn't stop. He had never wanted something so much that it hurt this much.

Forcing his eyes open, Draco pushed himself from bed, walked over to the open window and summoned for his broom. Bare footed, cold, and in pain, he forced himself to climb out of the window, mounted his broom and left.

So that when Hermione arrived just a minute later she was standing alone in the quiet ward, the night breeze blowing in softly through the open window, the beds empty.

"_Was Cinderella the one living with seven dwarves?"_

"_No." Hermione laughed. "That was Snow White."_

_Draco smirked, slowly reaching his hands out to wrap Hermione around the waist from behind. He pulled and she fell, strategically into his lap. He snuggled to her neck, whispering tauntingly in her ear,_

"_Now won't you be glad to live with seven Dracos?"_

Hermione inhaled shakily, her own voice screaming in her mind as her eyes searched frantically for Draco in the ward, finding no one.

This was, simply not their fairytale.

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**Lexi's Note**: magical-sprinkle here o.O…

I do believe Lucius appreciated his family, no matter how %#!! he acted over others. It showed in the war…

Now, on your way out shout along with me—"_I believe in fairy_…!!"

I'm sorry; can't help myself XD …


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